


i've got this feeling (that something's wrong)

by junsu (psharp10)



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psharp10/pseuds/junsu
Summary: It happens on the worst of nights, when Changmin can feel the ghost of Jaejoong's fingers pressing down bruises on his hips, the dildo that's stretching him open lacking the warmth and feel of Jaejoong's very real, very human cock.





	i've got this feeling (that something's wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> idk idk idk  
tw for hints of not so healthy past relationships and um, questionable mental health status (of both the author and the lead)  
also unbeta'd bc what the fuck have i written

It happens on the worst of the nights—Yunho's out somewhere blowing off the excess energy and adrenaline left over from the live, Changmin's locked himself in his room because he felt too tired after the show, but now he's feeling all high strung, nervous energy buzzing right under the skin of his fingertips and toes.

He pushes his head further back down on the pillow, feeling like if he tries hard enough, his head will sink through and he'll be able to escape the way this energy's drowning him out. But he's not on drugs, his head can't fool him, and his emotions still carry more power right now. So it transforms into lust, a slow brimming neediness that has him clenching his toes as he tries to keep it off.

In the end, though, he gives in—as he always does.

Changmin shuffles off the bed, his feet carrying him down the familiar path to the closet. His stash is kept inside, on the bottom, in a corner hidden under the hanging of coats and jackets. A nondescript box that looks like it just has old socks in it. It feels like it all happens in a blur - him taking out the dildo, taking the bottle of lube along with it, walking back to the bed, stripping on the way.

Before he knows it, he's on his bed, fingers covered in lube rubbing against his rim. His breath catches in his throat when he begins to push the first two fingers past his rim, a wave of reality washing over him. Changmin gasps, panting for air, pushing his fingers in deeper, eyes wide. Every detail of the ceiling, even in the dim lighting, is too obvious. He can see the cracks, the places where the paint is chipping off, he needs to tell the managers about scheduling a whitewashing appointment - preferably when they're back in Korea, so they don't have to tiptoe around the house when Yunho's bound to spill something over the freshly painted walls.

His fingers find his prostate, the tips rubbing insistently down against the bundle of his nerves, and he whimpers, eyes squeezing close. He's shutting off his brain, giving into this drowning need.

Changmin arches his back up, feet flat on the mattress as his hips lift off and his fingers slip in deeper with each thrust now.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' Changmin breathes out, feeling sweat catch on his upper lip, dripping over and into his parted mouth.

On a particular upward crook, the name falls past his lips and a shudder runs up Changmin's spine.

_Not good not good not good not good_, runs through his mind, but he tunes it out and reaches out for the dildo with his free hand.

He whines when he realizes he'll have to get his fingers out of his ass to push the dildo in, to properly cover the dildo in the lube. He reluctantly pulls them out, feeling his hole clench around air, uncomfortably empty, and then hurries to pour the lube over the dildo. His fingers slip and slide, his chest heaving with anticipation and pent up need for release, and he begins rushing.

Changmin can hear the whispers in his ears, in his head, that cloyingly sweet - _fake fake fake_ \- voice urging him on.

You can take it, can't you? You're so good, so good, open up for me. That's it, that's it, just like that. Fuck, you're so tight, so good, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Changmin feels his heart skip, breath stuck somewhere in between his throat and chest. The dildo's deep inside him, filling him up so fully, so thick. It just lacks the warmth of a real dick, but the ghost touches, whispers, memories that cloud around Changmin push away the lack of the warm and heavy weight a real cock has.

He shuffles around, getting on his knees and elbows to get a better angle that allows him to fuck himself more easily, the dildo going in deeper so that he can feel the ribbed edges more clearly against his walls. His senses are sharpened, as he feels the ghost of a hand wrap around his neck, his breathing getting shallower even though no one's actually pushing down on his windpipe, keeping him from breathing. The air around him is too thick, the smell too heavy with sex. His dick twitches and spills out precum onto the bedsheet below, a string of the clear liquid connecting to the head of his dick.

He whines, a high pitched keening, as the the head of the dildo brushes against his prostate. His arm muscles are straining, but his daily exercising pays off as he thrusts the dildo in and out of him again and again, pushing past the specks of pains. His hand on the bed fists the sheets as he jerks his hips back to fuck himself on the plastic cock as he thrusts it into himself, the edges catching on his rim.

It's reminiscent of the way Jaejoong used to press down his blunt nails close to Changmin's rim as he shoved his cock deep into Changmin, letting him feel a burst of pleasure and pain that created an almost hallucinatory whiteness and fog in his brain. It's not close enough, not the same, but it's still something, and the ghost of the touch pulls Changmin through.

He can feel the way Jaejoong's fingers pressed bruises down on his hips afterwards, chasing his own release as he fucked Changmin through Changmin's own orgasm. They were followed up by red lines scratched down his back, not deep enough that they'd last more than two or three days, but even those two to three days were a good enough reminder every time Jaejoong then put his hand on Changmin's back in public - a harmless gesture as a bandmate, rather even a sort of fanservice.

The string coils tighter in his lower abdomen and Changmin's fingers speed up.

Come for me, come for me, come without me touching you.

'Fuck you, fuck you, no, fuck _you_—' Changmin's voice cracks, a scream breaking through as he grinds the dildo down against prostate.

With half of his brain still functioning, he pushes his head down on the pillow, resting his weight on his shoulders as his free hand moves below to twist his own nipple.

The orgasm ripples through him, white flashing before his eyes. The overwhelming waves of emotions drown him, pushing him under as he pants, trying to catch his breath, even as his body shakes, the bed below him messy and wet with his come.

It happens on the worst of nights, where his brain unlocks and unleashes these memories on him, closing in on him and claiming him. Jaejoong's touch is too strong to forget. The way he shaped Changmin and his kinks, the way he played between pleasure and pain, bringing out perhaps the worst of Changmin's kinks to the surface and making the most of them, are burnt into Changmin's brain. 

These are fingerprints that he can't just burn away, and maybe, just maybe, some shit small part in Changmin's brain doesn't want to get rid of them anyway. They offer something that brings him a deep set though reluctant satisfaction that can't be replicated.

**Author's Note:**

> i still don't know  
what have i done  



End file.
